


Be Prepared to Bleed

by rabiosareads



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: (well sexual), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Established Relationship, F/M, Smut, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Emotional Tension, in terms of unhealthy: sex sex sex, javier is so bad at emotions and so am i
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabiosareads/pseuds/rabiosareads
Summary: Javier Pena was a fool. A fool in love? Possibly. A foolish coward. More likely than not.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Be Prepared to Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Basta Ya by The Marias. 
> 
> (See end notes for translations)

Javier had always wondered what life with you would be like.

He’d probably duck his head in shame if he were to say it out loud, an irritated bubble of bile rising in his throat when you would giggle too loudly, slap his arm too harshly, maybe through in his name in a teasing drawl that would add pressure to said bubble. Out of character, you’d say, watching him wring the back of his neck and bob the cigarette in between his plush lips and hiss a fuck it in your general direction, stuffing himself into the boiling steel contraption he calls his car. Domesticity felt foreign on his fingertips, odd textures that he didn’t care for in the slightest to wear, but it looked good on you. Very natural, normal, fitted, just like the sundress you wore that faithful in that back street bar that you both found yourselves in a convenient twist of fate.

The night still had the lingering grasp of the day’s humidity in the air, balmy and heavy, clutching to every packed corner of the neighborhood bar. For a Thursday night it was surprisingly packed with the same kind of crowd, the ones that smelled like heavy malt and sweat, stuck to the same glossy wood surface that sucked their skin in the nastiest slick Javi had ever felt. He was nursing his, third, fourth, fifth beer? It all tasted the same no matter how he slammed it back, mixed with the unease of his empty stomach, weighed down with cigarette ash and slick bile. His navy blue button up stuck to his body as his second skin, leg bouncing hitting the bottom of the bar’s table and wall, a film of sweat clinging to his taut muscles. The lip of the bottle hugged his cupid’s bow, the malt circling the bottom of the amber glass.

You stood out, a pretty thing in the middle of this debauched scene of gnashing jaws and dripping words. He looked around to see if you had someone to grasp onto when things got rough, a lap to sit in when you wanted to drip honey into their ears, however judging from the shrill of cheers from your friend and a plate of tequila shots, he knew better. You stuck out like a sore thumb in the best way.

A fan spun at the end of the bar and it would occasionally kiss the back of his neck, his only relief in his statuesque form. Even when a drunk local landed in the curve of his hunched back he didn’t move, didn’t even make an attempt to hiss _cuidado, hijo de puta_ in his direction. He hadn’t meant to stare either, but that’s how you always were when you were around him: magnetic and captivating, your own gravitational pull knocking him sideways and up. 

You haven’t even adjusted your gaze to him once he decided with a quick swig of his lukewarm drink that he would try to get a name.

One murmured hello, two shots burning the back of your throat and three steps to his car were all it took to be in this… entangled mess? Boyfriend, occasional fuck? Splattered canvas of hushed passion and the sting of his words? Something like that.

Just like everything else, sweltering under the Colombian sun, it melted into some hot wax of a memory, stuck in her hair and languid eyelids, almost as if to hold you in place. Even in your irritation of the man you found a slot to keep him in, even telling the same friends weeks later, “yeah he’s a grumpy man but he’s _my_ grumpy man”.

Javier was always on the move, too. By the time you were able to settle on the taste of whiskey and salt on rushed lips he was out the door, hand on the belt buckle and the other in the back of his Levi’s. That’s what you agreed to, no? Is this not what he asked of you, that Thursday night, when his fingers danced along your spine, hips in the air, the other cupping your mound from behind? Hushing you through the heated flush of his chest on your arched back, promising you if you kept it up like this he would give you _lo que quieras, amorcita,_ whatever you wanted?

That’s part of the deal. Right?

So he wondered, as he tapped his thumb on the steering wheel, coming across the _lavanderia_ in the corner of the street to make a small left turn, what if this trance, this dance of tangled limbs and bottom shelf liquor, was more? 

Javier has had his failure of relationships and other encounters where he put just a tiny bit more than the other half. He had told you this early on and didn’t realize he was creating a storm inside of you, mixing the dew and thunder in your chest with his dancing fingers on your bicep, but you bit it back so hard you could still taste the copper. It wasn’t worth the effort to address, especially when he was already snaking his arms around your waist to bring you to swing your legs over his hips, pushed back to the base of your skull to collect dust.

When he saw you he saw banana leaves and tiger lilies in a vase. Maybe a modest apartment, monochromatic with splashes of orange and yellow, or maybe a small ranch style home with tacky polyester walls and a wax red phone on the wall. He saw family barbecues, half empty cups of black coffee and the Sunday newspaper, boiled eggs and bacon, flashes of your smile behind droplets of water from the hose in the backyard. His sick mind even saw beach vacations, heard the reeling film of the disposable camera you bought at the airport last minute, felt your lips kiss his hairline when he looked up from his nap, even felt the lick of the dog you’ve always wanted since you were a child.

And that’s what hurt about fantasies. He could clip out pictures from whatever home and living magazine he could find, glue it down and hang it up on the fridge all he wanted, but it would run through his fingertips like sand. He’s not that kind of man. He never was, couldn’t be, even if Pablo fucking Escobar himself bought a gun to his temple and told him to be that way.

He gripped the wheel as he steadied his car up the hill, passing by a small restaurant that you raved to him that he just _had_ to try, right before he had to make another left to pass a small church. He lowered his sunglasses down the curve of his nose and searched for his carton of cigarettes in his glove compartment. He steadied his wheel under his knee as he slapped the carton to shift the tobacco, popping one in his mouth, letting it settle in between his teeth.

He wished he had taken one last shot before coming over. Sure, you would’ve scolded him to start drinking more water because you hated the way he would swerve into the wall from the rush of his stumbling feet or how the scent of nicotine was burning into your own skin, but he wouldn’t let you get the words out. Not on this day, just as hot as when he saw you swing your hips over the bar stool to whisper in his ear. He had to reign it in by the horns before it even kicked its hindlegs to charge.

Your apartment complex was stacked on a small patch of land that was higher than the rest of the street, looming down at Javier like a robin blue omen. He shuffled around in his car to search for his lighter, taking a long and tight inhale. He let the smoke linger in his mouth before blowing it out his nose, pushed his glasses back in place, and pushed his chest out towards your door.

Yes, what he had to tell you was hard. He had a script, hell, even Steve knew the inevitably devastating end was near from the way he would clutch the phone to call you. He knew word for word what he would say and how he would say it.

_Princesa listen, I’ve had fun and– No no. Princesa, amorcita, mi cielo, hold on fuck, we can’t do this anymore. I’ve been in shit’s creek over– wait hold on, calmate Javier, you got a target on your back from being with a man like me and it’s not even worth it, let’s just cut it before it gets worse huh–_

Yeah, sure, it was hard alright. What was harder was the way you answered the door after the third knock.

Your skin was flushed with a sheen of sweat, your free hand holding a folded fan to brush against your neck. The cotton white dress flowed down to your knees, crossed, hips pressing into the doorframe. He examined each fold of the material, dipping forward at your heaving chest, the way it would pinch around your belly, down to your fingers drumming the side of the door. You bitten lips were flushed with red and he noticed that your nervous habit was kicking in, radiating off your body to bounce off of his. You couldn’t help it, it was that magnetic pull again. It kicked and sputtered when he was around, an enigma of gunpowder and deep navy pools. That sick resistance of puppy love in your eyes, trimmed by your batting thick lashes and a shy pink tint to the apples of your cheeks, he couldn’t look away for one second. You had him hooked in the cheek. He threw his cigarette to the floor and tucked his sunglasses in his shirt.

“Javi–”

He gave you no time to say anything else when his chest bulldozed against yours, causing you to anchor yourself around the safety of his neck. His kiss was bruising and deep, the kind where your teeth would chink like china plates, his tongue giving no warning when it slipped in your mouth. You clutched his burgundy shirt when he rolled his hips into you, his half hardened cock straining against his Levis and into your belly. He snaked his hands to cup your ribcage, the other one to cup the back of your skull. He wanted to consume you in every way possible, even if it meant he was left to steal the air from your lungs. Javier knew he was toying with time at this point. He knew he was stalling; that’s what the DEA agent was good at. 

He kicked the door behind him to shut and pulled away, pressing his forehead on yours. He peppered kisses along cheek and jawline while he guided your hands to cup his bulge and you gasped, not out of sensation but from lagged time. 

“Javier, are you–” you were cut off once more when he latched his teeth on your earlobe, tongue trailing down to the pulsing vein.

You had figured something went wrong. Javier had always said he wished he was you some days, someone so intelligent and articulate with their words to say what’s on their mind. You had giggled when he told you this but were convinced that this was true, since every time he came over with a new bruise or drag of his knocking ankles he would sink into you, swallow the words until you picked them out one by one in his teeth. So in this instance you knew something was wrong, however the pool of warmth that began to fill in your body protested against asking.

You squeezed his pulsing cock and he hissed, pressing his forehead into your neck to bite and suck on the pulsing skin yet again. You whimpered at the pressure of his canines and laced your fingers to trail from the damp hair on his neck to the top of his scalp. You tugged back on the strands but he pulled you closer, palming at your body like he was trying to mold you against his swole frame.

“Javier, wait, wait,” you rasped a whisper when he palmed your breast. He pulled back with frowning brows, neck throbbing in strained temptation, body still tight against yours. “What’s going on, what’s gotten into you?”

Your words may have sounded sweet but they stung when they hit him square in the face. He had considered blaming you for making him this way, and in a way he would be right. Right to know that you had him discombobulated and short circuiting like festering wires in a box, so tightly wound up that he was ready to snap at the drop of a hat. He searched for the answer in your eyes and wet lips, flinching as you placed both hands to his face to cradle it. He sank into the heat of your hands and almost drowned in it, until his mind knocked at the door and hissed _if you’re going to do it, do it now pendejo._

He whispered your name in such a way that you had to blink twice to adjust your vision to make sure it was still Javier talking to you. “I don’t think… we can do this anymore.”

You gulped back something hard and jagged. You hated to feel this weak, this _spineless_ for a man that you regularly saw for a few fucks and takeout. “W-what?”

You sounded pathetic and he sounded cruel, taking your wrist into his hands, rubbing circles with his thumb to soothe the blow. He looked at your face, avoiding your eyes by focusing on a stray lash. 

“We can’t do this anymore, _amorcita_ ,” Javier said almost as a finality, as if you didn’t have any room in saying so. Your fingers dug into the dip of his cheekbone. “This is the last time.”

A beat. “And you think you can just say that and get away with it?”

Javier pulled his head back from your grasp and took a step back to lean against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling fan, spinning eggshell white, then at the cracked paint that shot slanting lightning patterns down to the walls. You had bought new sofa pillows, azure blue and white. You had laundry folded on the sofa before he arrived, separated by colors and article, along with a dripping glass of lemonade with a paper straw on the small coffee table. You kept last week’s newspaper in the same spot he had left it, the same one he slapped in his hand when he was raging on and on about the fucked up situation he was knee deep in, Escobar’s face smiling at him. 

The strange thing about this was… Javier Pena _did_ think he would get away with it, like many things in his life. That you would simply smash your pillow lips back onto him and stroked his bruised ego until he spilled prayers into your mouth, even offering him a chance at penance to mend your pretty little heart. 

Fantasy, remember? 

All of that spun sugar had to melt into a sticky puddle sometime, but nobody told him the shade of blue that you wore on your pained face would break his heart even more than he assumed yours was. You were pissed and rightfully so, curling your lip up and taking a shaking finger to jab into his sternum.

“Who do you think you _are_ , Javi? You don’t get to decide that.” you hissed when he scowled at you, the beast of his ego that he wished you would just tend to festering his skin tight.

“I’m doing us a fucking favor, don’t get all riled up–”

“Oh, so now you’re going to tell me what to do? What, was I just going to suck your cock like nothing and you’ll walk out that door, onto the next poor girl?”

Part of him wanted to scold you from letting such ugly language fall from a pretty mouth, but now wasn’t the time for jokes. But you were relentless in your rising anger, whipping words past his head, hoping they would sting as much as the relaxed way he said his. It made you feel so fucking _small_ , as if he could push you back into the lint of his pocket and pay attention to you when he pleased. Whatever you had with the agent, whether that’d be through a quick fuck in the back alley of a bar or in tears while he spilled praise in your mouth, it had to mean something, right?

Javier meant something to you, right? You meant something to Javier… right?

He dug in his pockets for the same carton and lit another fresh cigarette. He knew the cardinal rule of your home, no smoking, but at the time even you craved to be lost in the taste that you hated, only for the reason that it was so him, so ingrained in each graft of his skin you were willing to lose pieces of yourself in it. You rubbed your lips together and swallowed.

“What made you come to this conclusion?”

_Yeah Javier, what made you come to that conclusion?_

“My career.”

“Your career.”

“Yeah. My career.”

A sick laugh bubbled in your chest and you let it out, making sure to drag out each hiccup. You let the tears drop from your eyes and carved rivers to the tremble of your lips and wrinkles of your pursed nose. You made sure to raise the volume of the laugh, to signal to Javier that he was, in fact, that _pendejo_ he credited himself to be.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” you hiccuped, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. 

“It means what it means, _amorcita_ , come on–”

“No,” you spat. “No. I’m not anything to you. Don’t say that.”

The two of you were treading on dangerous territory. If you don’t lower your voice or if Javier doesn’t hold back his venom soon this would end much worse than it should. You’re adults, no? This was how adults handled things, with poise and control, shake hands and be on your way.

But you couldn’t hide the tremor in your bones, no matter how hard you tried. To repress that oil slick in your mind was to ignore your true feelings for the man, a burning cluster of stars that kept you illuminated through the nights that he wasn’t around, the same man you imagined with white picket fences, checkered picnic blankets and the Friday night slow dances in your tiny living room. He rubbed his cheeks and you focused on the way his lips would part in thought, storming black eyes darting in his head to find a clue to end this awkward silence between the two of you. 

You wanted to shout at him, slap his chest with weak fists, that you wished you pushed him away that night, that you didn’t let him come over two more times before he left behind breadcrumbs back to your apartment door in the form of empty cigarette packets and soiled bandages. But your mouth and chest burned otherwise, you instead wanted to try out his method: to taste him, to drop on your knees and allow him to _just forget about it_ and let you envelope the warmth only he knew he would relish in. 

You let him speak when the two of you opened your mouths to speak. “You’re… you’re too good. For me. For this. You’re a young girl, you can do better–”

“I don’t need ‘better’. I need…”

_You? This? Us? This fucked up situation?_

You knew there was more to this. You didn’t want to laugh at the jester anymore, pointing and yelling that you fucking knew it and told him so. He had gotten caught up in whatever this was, lingered further in your shared madness, and now was left to figure it out. In classic Javier fashion he didn’t want to be bothered by the blooming warmth, rather wanting to stay in the slick coldness of the knife’s edge he held at his jugular, any other pain than to have to deal with… you. 

“Do you really mean it?” you decided to switch your motive. “Do you want this to end?”

A beat. “No.”

“Then what do you want?”

Ash fell from the cigarette but he caught it in his palm. He chuckled at your question, taking a drag and letting the smoke drip from the corners of his mouth as he spoke. “Good question.”

You couldn’t help but breathe a chuckle, gathering your tears from the corner of your eye with a shaking hand. You were exhausted in your efforts but were too lazy to gather the strength to repress it any longer, so you took two languid steps towards him. You leaned into his chest with your own and the blood rushed back to his neck. He watched you with a suspicious gaze, cocking it to the side to catch the watery film of your eyes in the warm yellow sunlight. You placed a hand on his chest to steady yourself, sighing when he wrapped his arm around your waist. You slotted so perfectly against him, as if you were two halves created from the same bowl of clay.

“If you’re done with me,” you began, standing on the tips of your toes to kiss the crown of his head. “ Like you say you are… Then make it last. Take something to remember me by.”

His lips rushed back to your mouth at your permission, open and warm, the same lack of reservation from earlier. He sighed deeply into your mouth while you trailed backwards to lead the way to the sofa. Javier splayed his hands on your back, running back and forth from your neck to the base of your spine, squeezing past your dress to feel every inch of your skin.

He laid you down while you opened your legs to make room for him, raising your hips to feel that delicious friction that sparked something dangerous in you. He met your actions and flipped your dress back with the flick of his wrist. His lips dragged down, wet and slow, to your jugular then sternum, pulling down the front of your dress to get a better taste. You groaned when you heard the fabric rip at the straps, but he placed an open mouth kiss on your exposed breast.

“I’ll buy you a new one, _cariña_ , don’t worry about it.”

You gasped when his teeth dragged against the sensitive flesh of your nipple, gripping the cushion when his hand laid on your belly to hold you down. His hands slipped in your panties with no hesitation to drag his index finger down your slit, gathering your slick to press attention to your clit. The next gasp was choked, eyes squeezed so tight you saw stars when he immediately began to swirl tight circles around the sensitive gathering of nerves.

He wanted to rip the arousal out of you with such a harsh grip that it would leave you whiplashed and drunk for days, just to prove he was as cruel as you made him out to be. But he knew your body, knew the way the callous would drive you crazy against the silkiness of yours, so he slowed down just a bit, just enough to allow you to muster words in your mouth.

“Fuck, _siempre estás tan mojada para mi,_ ” he growled while he bit the skin on your ribcage, soothing the pain with a gentle kiss. He removed his hand to slip off your panties, watching the way your chest rose, flushed and prickled with goosebumps. 

Javier grabbed both sides of your hips to anchor you down while placing hot trails of kisses along the juncture of your hips and thighs. Your eyes opened when you propped yourself up, watching him open his mouth to latch onto your clit immediately.

“J-Javi, wait,” you begged, feeling the coil arch inside, focusing its electricity of his selfish ministrations into your trembling bones. He gripped your hips so hard his prints were practically indented into your skin, burning and tugging when your hips began to roll on their own accord. He loosened his grip and unlatched his mouth on your clit, flattening his tongue to lap up your arousal.

“Are you trying to fuck my face?” a husk of a whisper sent vibrations through you. His chuckle made you flush and throw your head backwards, whining when he swatted your thigh. He kissed your thigh, lips wet with your slick, and bit the pillowed flesh. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

You groaned at his eyes closing shut, lost in the way you shamelessly grind his face in, hitching your breath when his nose would graze your bundled nerves, so desperate in finding some form of release, whether it through quick and painless routes or waves of warm licks of flame. He watched your stomach cave in, thighs clenching the sides of his head in a vice grip so he suckled on your clit, making sure to growl at your taste.

It hit you like a ton of bricks, unforgiving in its sharpness but deliciously cascading through your bones, shaking in his tight grasp. Javier wretched out every last drop of your release, watching you rile back up to the next one that was coming faster and crude.

“Esperame princesa, I want to be inside of you.”

You laid with your legs splayed open, the heavy air somehow cooling your sweltering bodies, watching him undress himself in front of your open window. Although everything was moving so quickly, flashes and snapshots that you were sure you would bring back up when you were left alone for the rest of the evening (week? Month? Dios mio, year?), you were lost in the way his stomach would flex at the stretch of his arms, golden and solid, displaying your carnal daydreams. Your head swayed with languid spins, the same ones that Javier would do when he was concentrating on your mouth over his morning coffee, spinning the sugar to collect at the bottom of the cup.

And you thought for a split second, in your haste reaction, you weren’t ready to let go, either. The green monster in you screamed for your actions and now you’re paying the price of it, drunk on your arousal and the way he kept his blown out irises on you, watching the way you gulped at the sight of the swatch of hair peeking from his lowered pants. You were willing to compromise, willing to sacrifice something, anything, to chase the taste of the agent for as long as you sanely could.

In reality, you just didn’t want to be _alone._

The reality stung and burned, heaved your chest forward like a punch to the belly, knocking on your door to make an appearance. But Javier didn’t notice it when he stroked himself in front of you, tapping your knee to lay horizontally on the couch. He crouched in between your legs, lining up his cock to your swollen pussy, the sunlight cascading over the mountains of his strong back. As he sheathed inside of you, you hissed, digging your fingernails into his biceps.

“S-Shit baby, you’re killing me here,” he hissed. “ _no te preocupes, relájate._ ”

Yeah. Relax. 

An impossible feat at this point. He had you past the point of patience, past the point of not begging for some sweet mercy. Every time he entered you he burned with a sweet stretch, your hips chasing that friction again, anything to soothe that aching desire that ate away at your stomach lining. He prompted you to wrap your legs around his waist and he leaned down to kiss your lips again, pressing into your teeth when he pulled out, slowly back in, slamming back to knock your breath out of your lungs. He kept doing this and you realized one stark understanding in the middle of the haze.

Firstly, Javier Pena was not a man who took his time. He was always rushed, shaking and itching for the next thing, even if he stayed overnight he made sure to place a chaste kiss on your eyelids and rush down the stairs. But in this instance he slowed time for you. Took time and poured it in your mouth like thick molasses, dull and sluggish like the Colombian sun, cupping the bitter liquid when he slowed down his hasty kiss, making sure to slip his tongue allowed you to taste the lingering taste of your own body.

He pulled back and his eyes frowned in concern, the wrinkles around his eyes pulled back. He lifted his hand to cup your cheek and stilled himself inside of you. “Are you okay, _princesa_?”

You were certain at first that your face was wet from the collective slick of humidity, but you weren’t a stranger to ignoring your emotions when looking at it in the face. You nodded and hid your face in the crook of your neck, urging him to continue by pushing the heels of your feet into the dimples of his back. You did your best to ignore your tears but that reservation was left as soon as you saw the way his eyes sparkled with the same amber pools you were drowning in.

“If I’m hurting you, let me know–” he began but you stopped him with a sad groan, kissing his neck.

“I just don’t want you to stop, Javier.”

The pain you felt left you split down the middle, as if you were a tree trunk hit by lightning, still swirling up black smoke. You didn’t want to stop anything, surely not this, definitely to not have him tuck himself back into his pants, leaving you on the couch to collect your pieces from the floor. He understood that much and was no fool to your intrusive thoughts, eating you alive like termites, so he thrusted his hips forward to find his rhythm.

You didn’t like the fact that he was going so slow. It was injecting liquid fire in your veins and you were left with a pool of gasoline in the collective share of your saliva, trying to ignore the impending doom of your oncoming climax.

He sensed it in the way you clutched around his cock, his moans spilling into your hairline. He shut his eyes so tight he saw stars as well, his hips pistoning to grind against your aching pelvis. He tasted the salt from your forehead and kissed down your cheek when your body shifted forward from the sudden force of his picked up speed.

“Javi, oh my god, please, please, _please,_ ” you begged, digging your fingers into his back, finding purchase in the divots of his muscles. Your eyes welled up again with tears of pleasure, the coil corkscrewing around your drunken state, chasing that high you knew he would only give to you if you asked oh so nicely.

“F-Fuck how are you _this good_ every time, y-you’re– fuck–” he stuttered out when he felt his hips fell out of rhythm. He pushed down your knees so you laid still and while you were left confused by the sudden movement, he propped himself on his knees and picked you up with careful hands, using the arm of the sofa as leverage. The new angle hit something utterly devastating in you as he slipped back inside, going much harsher and without regard. You clung onto his neck and wrapped your legs around the curve of his waist, admiring the strong arm wrapped around your waist. You knew you were doomed at this angle when the liquid fire spread itself to the tips of your toes, pulsating in each of your burning limbs.

He came hard and thunderous, not afraid to let out a roar of a moan in your ear, gasping for air when he stuttered inside of you. You followed suit and clamped around his cock, milking everything out of him, arching your back when the sweet spot was hit over and over. 

Javier rushed his mouth all over your face, mapping out a trail as if he wanted to brand you with reminders of his slightly chapped softness. He lowered you back down to lay your head on the arm of the sofa, carefully slotting next to you. You turned around and held his head to your exposed chest, taking his arm to hold you closer and to wrap his legs around yours.

Colombia snuck into a hazy dusk. The dogs began to bark and the chickens buried themselves in cool soil to rest. Your neighbor was playing a slow ballad, something about _el sufrimiento_ and you laughed at God’s joke. Cars passed in hiccups of exhaust and the ceiling spun in a mockingly slow pace. You suppress another chuckle. Nobody would get the joke anyway.

“Did you mean it?” You asked again, biting your cheek in fear. He hummed in question.

“Mean what?” he groaned.

“That this was the last time.”

“I… I don’t know, _amorcita._ ”

“Would you at least stay the night?” you offered, massaging his scalp.

“Only with the promise that I don’t sleep on this fucking couch.” Javier grumbled in your flesh, tickling you with his mustache. This earned a small giggle and you pressed your chest closer.

“I think I can do that.”

It’s true when they say ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is a fool’s best friend, a fool’s lover was the act of dreaming. That’s what fools do, they dream and hold life on a string as if it wasn’t breaking the thread with the weight of reality, as if they could live in their constructed sand castle forever. 

You lifted his head and kissed his eyelids shut, the sudden warmth of your mouth breaking the last glass shell inside of him. It reminded him of how he would leave you to collect your dreams in the rising sun, blissfully unaware of the list of atonement he made immediately when he shut your door. 

Javier had always wondered what life with you would be like. But then again, he’d always been a complete fool.

**Author's Note:**

> Found first on my tumblr @ the same name! Come interact as I try to set up my presence on there (: 
> 
> TRANS:  
> amorcita: my love  
> princesa: princess  
> cuidado, hijo de puta: watch out, motherfucker  
> lo que quieras: whatever you want  
> lavanderia: laundromat  
> cariña: darling  
> siempre estás tan mojada para mi: always so wet for me  
> no te preocupes, relájate : don’t worry about it, relax  
> el sufrimiento: the suffering


End file.
